


Bundle of Joy: A Reylo Retelling

by SouthernSass



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Boss/Employee Relationship, Christmas, Devoted Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, F/M, Falling In Love, Golden Age Hollywood, Idiots in Love, New Year's Kiss, No Sex, Orphans, Prompt Fill, Retelling, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 10:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20172466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernSass/pseuds/SouthernSass
Summary: When department store salesgirl Rey Sanders finds an abandoned baby, mistaken motherhood ensues. An orphan herself, Rey can't just leave the baby once the sweet little thing steals her heart. The only other person to accomplish that is Ben Solo, whose family owns the department store. When Ben starts to show an interest in Rey, innocent as it may be, things only get more confusing when people start to assume that the father of that little bundle of joy is HIM.





	1. Solo Department Store: Where You're One of the Family

**Author's Note:**

> In 1956, Debbie Reynolds and Bobby Fisher (real-life parents of our beloved Carrie Fisher) starred together in a musical called Bundle of Joy. The premise of the movie was that Reynolds’ character happened upon a foundling that was mistaken for her child. Despite her numerous protests, the baby is given into her care. The son of her boss, a wealthy department store owner, gets involved and before long no one can keep track of the misunderstandings except for Reynolds's character. Romantic comedy ensues. @reylo_prompts recently proposed a similar storyline for a Reylo fic. Enjoy my answer to the prompt, a homage to Debbie Reynolds and her daughter, Our General.

Coruscant (New York City), 1956

From where she waited on the second floor, standing in the windows, Rey looked down at the crowd of shoppers lining up outside the Solo Department Store. She checked her receipt book tucked into the pocket of her store-issued blue dress, then adjusted the black collar that marked her as a junior saleswoman. The Christmas rush had begun two weeks previous, but with only days until the holiday, the shoppers had become more frantic and a lot more eager to buy whatever she put in their hands. Which was perfect. If she kept selling out the millinery department, someone was bound to notice. Perhaps she’d get a raise. Only six weeks on the job, and a raise. Then she could live off something other than rice, beans, and the occasional discounted meat and day-old bread. 

After living through the war years in London as a child and teen, when an American charitable organization had offered to take orphaned children to the United States to relieve some of the stress on Great Britain’s institutions, Rey had climbed into the back of the truck without hesitation. She told a convincing lie about her mother, caught in one of the London blitzes, and her father, shot in France, and they took her with sympathetic smiles. 

Would they have taken her if she’d admitted she’d been an orphan since before the Americans entered the worldwide conflict? 

Her friend and coworker, Rose Tico, came up beside Rey to look over the crowd in the street below. “We’re going to be run off our feet again.” 

“Isn’t it great?” Rey whispered, not bothering to hide her grin. “I sold twenty-three hats two days ago. I’m going to break that record today.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even make commission. Why are you trying so hard?”

“If I do a good job, maybe someone important will notice. I’ve just got to be a success at this.” Rey turned away from the window and surveyed their side of the department, cordoned off from the others by tall mirrors and hat-racks holding the most elegant styles for holiday parties and every day life. They had gloves, too. Boxes and boxes of gloves displayed on counter-tops and beneath glass. 

After another moment at the window, Rose went to her place behind one of the glove displays. “As long as it’s the right person noticing. That Hux guy.” She shuddered. “Talk about annoying.”

Hux was the floor supervisor. Although he had come over from Britain, too, he hadn’t made it a secret he came from a better neighborhood than Rey. 

As though summoned by their thoughts, Hux appeared. He wore a red carnation in the lapel of his black suit, the mark of a supervisor. He came through the rows of merchandise, checking with each sales associate. Finally he stood before Rey, and she straightened her posture as he looked over the pillbox hats she’d arranged carefully by color, making them appear like a rainbow. 

“Sanders.” He spoke to her with disdain dripping from each syllable of her name. “Eager again today, I see.”

Rey brightened her smile. Even if he didn’t like her, he couldn’t deny her record sales. “As always, Mr. Hux.”

He shook his head, as though despairing of her capabilities. Well. She’d show him. He wandered away as the bell sounded downstairs, marking the moment the doors opened. Rey squared her shoulders and kept her eyes glued to the escalator. 

A cart appeared directly in front of her before a customer did, pushed by her friend Poe Dameron. He was an immigrant, too, from Guatamala. “Ah, the beautiful Rey. How are you this fine day?”

“Poe, good morning. Do you have that extra stock I asked for?”

“Sure do.” He pulled the hat boxes from the cart and set them before her. “But where you’re going to put it, I’ve no idea. This place is packed with hats.”

She tilted her chin up and couldn’t help it if her answer was smug, because it was true, too. “It won’t be by lunch.” 

“_Excelente_, Rey. You will succeed, I know it. Now. About tonight. Kaydel still has a cold.” He affected a pout, his big brown eyes begging for sympathy. “She cannot come with me to the dance competition at the Pink Moon. Won’t you please take her place?”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” Rey tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “It’s awfully late, and I don’t want to be tired for work.” What if someone noticed her yawn on the job? What if she was too tired to make enough sales? As much as she loved dancing, and as great as it would be if they won the prize money, Rey had to think of the job first. 

“Ah, you work too hard. Please? We would split the prize money if we won. First place is just a cup and some gift certificates, but second and third get cash. A hundred dollars for second place, Rey. Even if we split it, that’s a week’s pay for you that you only had to dance for.”

Keeping her voice both firm and gentle had become something of a talent, given the number of men she had to fend off during her morning and evening commute on the subway. “I don’t think so, Poe. But thank you for offering.”

“Then I am out of luck. I don’t know anyone who dances as well as Kaydel but you.” He sighed dramatically, but gave her a quick wink to let her know there weren’t any hard feelings. Poe went on his way, his cart full of stock for other departments, as well as returns. Poe’s goal was to make it up to floor manager some day. Rose and Rey both secretly prayed he’d take Hux’s place as their boss. Poe had infinitely more charm and better manners than the ginger-haired supervisor. 

The first customer of the day finally arrived at Rey’s table, tall and stately, middle-aged, wearing all lavender. Rey perked up, her hand already reaching for a deep purple hat perfect for evening wear. 
    
    
    ~*~

Scribbling at his notepad, Ben barely looked up when the door to his office opened. Only two people in the world entered his workspace without knocking first, just like they’d used to enter his bedroom growing up. After making one last note for his secretary to type up as a memo, Ben looked up to find his father lowering himself into a chair across the desk. 

“Good morning, Ben.”

Ben glanced up at the large clock on the wall and couldn’t resist a smirk. “You’re late, Mr. Solo. To your own department store.”

Han Solo, in his seventies, really shouldn’t even be working anymore. But he insisted on coming in and running as much of the daily operations as he could. It was better, he said, than puttering about in the garage and getting in his wife’s way while she tried to keep up her career, too. 

“What did you do, Ben? Sleep here, just so you’d beat me to the office?” Han fixed his son with a disapproving frown, though Ben sensed the underlying affection in his father’s tone. “Shouldn’t you be out having fun? What is it the kids do these days, anyway? Go to jazz clubs, right?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Dad. You realize I’m almost thirty, right? I’m not sure that qualifies as a ‘kid’ anymore.”

The old man scoffed. “You’re a kid until you have your own kid. That’s how your mom and I see it, anyway.”

“Do we have to have this conversation?” Ben leaned forward, putting both elbows on his desk. “Mom talked to you about my love life again, didn’t she?”

“For about three hours last night, then I got an intermission, then she started up again with the sunrise.” Han mimicked Ben’s position, directly across the desk from his son. “You’re a good kid. You could run this place, and the other stores in Boston and Newark, without me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your new initiatives and the changes you’ve made. Everyone is raving about the little breaks you give them—what do you call them?”

“Recreational breaks. It stands to reason that if the employees get a few minutes to themselves now and then that they’ll be less ragged by the end of the day. Happy employees handle customers better, so the customers have a better experience and come back here instead of Snoke’s.” 

“I had Lando run the numbers for me. We’ve had twenty percent fewer employees quitting before the holidays and thirty-three percent fewer employees calling in too sick for work.” Han shook his head, obviously impressed. “This place has come a long way with your help the last few years. I remember when I was hawking second-hand suits out of a stall near Time’s Square.” 

Before the war, Han had barely moved from used goods into a new storefront. With the war, he’d come up with some incredible ideas submitted to the patent office and the war office for the efficient distribution of goods to the armed forces. Somehow, he’d gotten into smuggling for the government, too, posing as a merchant going behind enemy lines. Ben had barely seen his dad during the war years. Or his mom. 

When Ben voluntarily enlisted in 1945, before his eighteenth birthday, both parents had appeared out of nowhere to yell at him. More irritated than touched at their concern, he’d gone right into the marines, determined to do his part. That’s where the discipline came from that kept him out of the kind of trouble his dad seemed to want him to get into.

“If I’m doing such a great job at the store,” Ben said, dragging his mind from memories he tried to push away, “why do you want me to run off to nightclubs?”

“Because, Ben. Your youth is slipping away, and as great as this store is, it shouldn’t be the only thing in your life.” Han sighed and stood. “Your mom wanted me to remind you to find a date for New Year’s Eve. She’s got that big fundraising party planned for the democrat party.” 

After he made a quick note, a reminder to himself to call Phasma or Bazine to act as his date for his mother’s event, Ben ventured a question he’d been dying to ask for some time. 

“Have you told her you voted for Eisenhower yet?” Somehow he kept a straight face while his father blanched. 

“Pretty sure she figured it out when she found my ‘I like Ike’ pin last week.” 

Picturing the look on his mother’s face at a moment like that had Ben fighting a laugh, but he managed to make it sound more like a disapproving cough. “She’ll never forgive you for that.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Han rubbed the back of his neck, then stood to his full height and adjusted his tie. “I’m off to put my nose to the grindstone. Be good, kid.”

“Sure, Dad.” Ben sobered and tried to go back to work. After making a few more notes about a new window display, however, his mind wandered back to his parents. They worried too much. He'd made it through the war, finished college, and he'd taken the family business seriously. Made a difference in the stores, planned a new expansion for next year. Shouldn't they be happy about his success? Yet it was never quite enough. He always fell short of making them happy. As a kid, he'd been too shy for his mother to parade around at political events, and too cautious to join his father in wild adventures. After the war, things changed. They all got along better. His parents treated him with more respect. 

Ben turned in his chair, looking out the sixth floor window into the heart of the city. Buildings scraped against the clouds, and they reached higher than a department store ever would. His mother wanted more for Ben than the store. She wanted him to enter politics, to work in a bigger office and have influence. But Ben knew what kind of a life that was. He'd watched his parents live that way, usually from between the upstairs railings when he should've been in bed. His mother on one side of the room, talking to the mayor or senators. His father on the other, drinking and laughing with investors he didn't even like. They rarely saw each other, they almost never saw him. 

Now his mother was worrying about his social life. About him finding love. What good was falling in love if you were never around the person you promised your heart to? 

He would never work in politics. And Ben had no intention of giving his heart away, either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed getting to know our AU-1950's Ben and Rey. :-D


	2. Baby Brown Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey Sanders is a hard, cheerful worker with record-breaking sales...and record-breaking returns. Her lack of finesse in the world of the department store means hard times are ahead. Things only get harder when a certain bundle winds up in her unsuspecting arms.

“Miss Sanders?” Hux appeared an hour before lunch, hovering before her station with a slight sneer curling his lip. “Mr. Cassian wishes to see you in his office. Immediately.”

Rey perked up. Cassian was Hux’s boss. Hux managed employees on the second floor, and Cassian was over all the employees in the store. Finally. Someone had _noticed_ her. She exchanged a look with Rose, certain her friend would grin, but instead caught Rose’s frown. 

“Hurry up now, Miss Sanders.” Hux pointed in the direction of the elevators. “Fourth floor. On you go.”

Rey tucked her receipt book deeper into her front pocket and started walking, only pausing long enough to check her hair in one of the mirrors customers used to adjust the hats they tried on. She had a few loose strands, but a quick tuck here and there set her deep brown hair to rights. If only it wasn’t so straight. The style of the day called for curls, like Debbie Reynolds, Maureen O’Hara, or waves like Marilyn Monroe. 

“Which floor, miss?” the elevator operator asked, standing straight and tall in his uniform and brass buttons.

Stepping into the elevator, Rey took several steadying breaths. She had done it. Through cheerful smiles, hard work, and amazing sales, Rey had finally proved herself worthy of notice and maybe a raise. In six weeks of employment. 

She exited the elevator with her head held high and reported to Mr. Cassian’s secretary. The woman offered Rey a subdued greeting before walking her to the door to announce her arrival. 

Rey glided in, her hand extended to take Mr. Cassian’s, and bestowed a bright smile upon him. “Mr. Cassian, you wanted to see me?”

The man might be a decade or so older than Rey, but he carried himself with a somberness common to those who had served in the war. A sort of haunted look of wisdom.

“I did, Miss Sanders. Please, won’t you have a seat.” She complied graciously, taking the chair across his desk. “It has come to my attention that you are a very zealous salesgirl.”

“I’m glad someone noticed,” Rey responded, crossing her ankles and tilting her chin up. “I’ve worked very hard to sell out as much stock as possible.” 

“Yes.” Cassian looked down at a piece of paper in front of him. “For example, you sold twenty-three hats two days ago. Does that number sound correct?”

Oh, it took a lot to keep from preening. “Yes, sir. I understand that’s a record for our department, for a single salesgirl.”

“It is. And you broke another record yesterday.” Cassian hadn’t smiled back, Rey realized somewhat belatedly. But why? “The record for most returns in your department. Twenty-three hats were sold by you the day before, twenty-_five_ hats were returned yesterday. All sold by you. Two from three days ago.” Cassian tapped his pencil against his notepad where the figures must be written out.

A familiar feeling, similar to sinking slowly beneath water on a cold day, filled Rey’s heart. “I don’t understand, Mr. Cassian.”

He threaded his fingers together on his desk, leaning forward. “You are so determined to make sales, Miss Sanders, that you haven’t been making the right sort of sales. You’re sweeping aside customer concerns about budget-conscious husbands, concerns over whether or not hats actually match the item they’re being bought to accompany, and any number of things that customers usually consider well before making purchases. Then they come back here, the next day, dissatisfied with their purchase and impatient with the return process. There is more to sales than the number of hats that leave our store in a day, Miss Sanders, and this is a point you have been unable to grasp.” 

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say. No one had really told her people were returning what she sold them. Not until that moment. How was she to know she had been going about things the wrong way?

“We are letting you go, Miss Sanders. Effective this evening at close, you may come to this office and collect your final payment.” Mr. Cassian stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “You are, of course, welcome to attend the employee Christmas party next week.” 

She barely heard a word he said after the first few slipped from his lips. “Letting me go?” she whispered. “But—”

“The decision is final, Miss Sanders.” Mr. Cassian put his hands behind his back and narrowed his eyes at her. She’d heard he wasn’t the sort of man to share a joke with employees. He took his job too seriously. Based on the look he was giving her, Rey found it difficult to believe he had a sympathetic bone in his body. 

Let go. Fired, a week before Christmas.

She came to her feet, determined to keep her head high. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Arguing was pointless, too. She knew that. There were hundreds of other girls in the city who would attempt to fill her position within hours of employment agencies getting wind of it. 

Rey left the room, briefly making eye contact with the secretary, who offered her a sympathetic frown and nothing more. She entered the elevator and went back to the second floor, then straight to Rose.

Rose met her with open arms, the look on Rey’s face apparently confirmation enough of what had happened. “Oh, Rey. I’m so sorry.”

She still hadn’t cried, though the tears started gathering. Then Poe appeared with his cart, a stack of hat boxes on top. Likely the stock that had been returned the day before. The sight of those hat boxes finally did it. Rey started sobbing. Before Poe could do more than appear startled, she sobbed out, “Do you still need a dance partner for tonight?”

After he assured her he did, and after Rose loaned her a handkerchief to dry her eyes and cheeks, Rey told them both the whole story. They listened, commiserating with her, agreeing that someone ought to have warned her, and verbally abusing Hux for not explaining to Rey what she had done wrong instead of starting the process of firing her. 

Forty-five minutes later, with her friends’ reassurances in her ears, Rey took her lunch. Except she didn’t plan on eating. She went for a walk, with a list of addresses in hand, searching out employment offices. The most promising one was four blocks away, and she arrived with high hopes.

“Closed for lunch.” Rey’s shoulders drooped as she read the sign. Of course they were closed. She’d have to come back tomorrow. Which wouldn’t be hard, seeing as she didn’t have a job to get to in the morning.

A sign posted in their window listed jobs on a chalkboard. Rey shaded her eyes and peered inside, reading them softly to herself. 

“Data analyst. Chemical engineer. Mechanical specialist.” She sighed and kept going, each option on the list less suitable than the last. She’d graduated high school, worked odd jobs, then come to New York City with high hopes of living independently. But at nineteen years old, with only a few odd jobs on her resume, Rey wasn’t qualified for anything. And the market was flooded with people looking for work. 

Shoulders drooping, Rey stepped away from the window, prepared to go back to work and face Mr. Hux’s smug grin without the rebuttal that she had already procured employment elsewhere. She hadn’t even taken a step, however, when she heard an unmistakable sound.

A baby crying. Loud, impatient, insistent wails. 

Rey turned and took a few steps toward the sound, confused as to where it had come from given how deserted the sidewalk had been moments ago. There, next to the employment office, were three stone steps leading to the doors of another building. On top of the stairs, laying on the ground, was a baby. 

The baby’s dark-brown eyes were searching as it cried, and the baby started to turn over, even though it had been wrapped tightly in a thick yellow blanket. Rey hurried forward, arms outstretched. The baby might tumble down the steps if it kept moving like that. Who would leave a baby outside, on the ground, in the middle of December?

Outraged, Rey schooled her features into a smile as her hands touched the baby’s soft black curls. “Oh, you little darling. I’m here.” The baby shuddered with a loud sniffle, its gaze colliding with Rey’s. 

A strange thing happened to Rey at that moment. Those sad, tear-filled brown eyes seemed to stare directly into Rey’s soul, and sorrow mixed with understanding filled her heart. She glanced up as the door opened, barely making out the words painted on the glass.

Organa Memorial Foundling Home. 

Her heart cracked right down the middle. Someone had placed this baby on the cold cement steps, leaving the child unwanted, unclaimed, and unloved. Much as Rey had been left by parents too wrapped up in themselves and their booze to care about their own daughter. 

The woman in lavender, the one from that morning in the store, stood in the doorway staring down at Rey. When her eyes took in the scene, her expression changed from one of surprise to a soft-sort of pity. 

“Oh dear. Please, bring the baby in out of the cold.” She stepped aside and held the door open for Rey. 

“Thank you.” Rey straightened, baby in her arms, its little cheek resting against her shoulder as one last sob shuddered through the tiny body. She followed the woman further inside, through a hallway lined with glass windows, and into an office area where several desks with typewriters atop them and men in suits behind them lined each wall. 

“I’m Amilyn Holdo,” the woman said, gesturing for Rey to sit in front of one of the desks. “This is Mr. Finn Trooper.” The handsome black man across the desk smiled warmly at her, though his eyes were sad. 

“Nice to meet you both.” Rey stroked the baby’s head as she spoke, instinctively keeping her voice low and soft. “This is a wonderful thing you do here.”

“Thank you,” the man said, inserting a sheet of paper into his typewriter. “What’s your name?”

“Rey Sanders,” she answered.

“Miss or Mrs. Sanders?” he asked, fingers poised over the typewriter keys.

“Miss.” She rocked the baby, looking up and Amilyn Holdo. “It must be very hard to see so many babies come through an office like this.”

“It is difficult,” the older woman said, leaning against Finn Trooper’s desk. “But I imagine it is infinitely harder on the parents who feel they have no choice but to give up their children.”

“Maybe for some.” Rey sighed, knowing her parents hadn’t suffered much. They’d been found dead shortly after they’d rid themselves of her. 

“Place of employment?” the man asked.

“Solo Department Store,” Rey answered automatically, distracted for a moment when the baby lifted its head to offer her a tentative smile, tears still on round, rosy cheeks. She quickly recalled her position, though. “At least, that’s where I’ll be until it closes tonight. I just lost my job this morning.” She forced a smile when the baby started frowning at her again. 

“I see. This is a very difficult time to lose a job.” Ms. Holdo sighed deeply. “But there are things in place to help people like you, Miss Sanders.”

Rey shook her head. “Employment agencies can only do so much.” Then she looked up at Ms. Holdo. Really looked. The woman was staring down at Rey, pity in her eyes, her smile understanding. 

Wait.

Rey looked across the desk to see Mr. Trooper regarding her with a similar expression.

“Wait.” She said it aloud this time. “You don’t think that this baby is _mine?”_

“We do not judge, Miss Sanders. We are only here to help. Thank goodness you came inside.” Ms. Holdo’s smile widened slightly. “We can offer you some assistance. There are several charitable institutions—”

Jumping to her feet, Rey cut the woman off. “No. Absolutely not. Listen, this baby isn’t mine. I was looking for a job when I found the baby on the steps. I thought she might roll off—”

“She?” Trooper asked, typing again. 

Rey shot a glare in his direction. “I don’t actually know.” She turned back to Holdo, who had crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow up, skeptical. “You have to believe me. This isn’t my baby. I don’t have a baby. I’m not even married.”

“We see that a lot,” Trooper said, no hint of judgment in his words. “It’s a difficult world for unmarried mothers.”

“You—no. Listen. I’m sure it’s very difficult. For other women. Not me. I don’t have a baby, I don’t have a husband. When I do start a family, if I ever do, I’ll follow the traditional path.” Women might have had the vote for thirty years, but Rey knew very well exactly how a woman with a child and no husband would be regarded in society. “This isn’t my baby.”

When it looked as though Amilyn Holdo intended to argue further with her, Rey abruptly handed the baby to the taller woman. As she expected, it was reflexive for Holdo to take the child, who immediately started crying. The baby twisted in the older woman’s arms and reached a hand out for Rey.

“No.” Rey took a step backward. “Listen, I can barely take care of myself. A baby shouldn’t be in my care at all. And this isn’t even my baby. She’s not my responsibility. Someone left her on those steps for you lot to see to, and that’s the truth.” When both adults just stared at her, and the infant’s cries grew louder, the stress of the day caught up with Rey again so that her eyes filled with tears, too.

“Just do your jobs and find her a good home.” Then Rey turned and bolted from the store as fast as she could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of this story is chugging along, and it diverges pretty strongly in a few places from the original light-hearted musical, but I think it's going to be fun for everyone who sticks with me. ;-)


End file.
